


Magician’s Pain

by Darkrealmist



Series: The House of the Dead Poetry [21]
Category: The House of the Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Battle, Blood, Canon - Video Game, Character Study, Clones, Cyborgs, Fire, Free Verse, Gen, Genetics, Gothic, Guns, Horror, Mutants, Poetry, Prose Poem, Resurrection, Science Fiction, Spies & Secret Agents, Survival Horror, Tarot, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-500, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrealmist/pseuds/Darkrealmist
Summary: A poem based on the Magician’s recurring appearances throughout the numerous installments of The House of the Dead.
Series: The House of the Dead Poetry [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1200067





	Magician’s Pain

Magician’s Pain

Author’s Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the House of the Dead series.

Summary:

A poem based on the Magician’s recurring appearances throughout the numerous installments of _The House of the Dead_.

* * *

Say a suit of hellos to the masterpiece.  
Stunned welcomes for Curien’s unfinished prototype, which Goldman had defend his unready Emperor.  
Rhythmic throb of exposed musculature. Wire tendons, beating in sync with a heart plate-armour’d.  
His whirling sorcery and diving uppercuts grunt organ-searing organ music through the bloodened wind.  
Whose scarred, hollowed gaze grins at you with rotten yellow teeth, my AMS friends.  
Ripping holes in the howling mountain air that taste of metal. Sharding the glass of modern civilization.  
He escapes the BioReactor. Descends from the misanthrope’s headquarters.  
Shatters out of the secret cloning tank below the city.  
An angel for the father to save his son. Bodyguard for the mock-up. Reopener of the box.

This is the elementary flame humans misused to control the dawn of their own evolution.  
The theremin played to take fate into their hands.  
Afterimages dizzy around, scapegoating shadows. Magic blue. Fire red. Supersonic silver.  
The demonic pulse worming his gunshots and eye socket. Crackles of instructions re- and overwritten.  
Goldman predicted the humans’ enduring consistency. They would destroy everything.

Death isn’t a dead end.

Nobody and nothing can erase his pain.  
Either he’d get them or there’d be no future.  
As the world turned, he spun, reared, and scattered a crackling inferno shower.  
Aiming fast and true to break the worthy’s score.

He was zero, the gene that would keep coming back to life.

I can wait no more. I have been waiting for this moment for some time.

You haven’t seen anything yet.

So far-reaching, the good doctor’s legacy in the house of the dead.


End file.
